I have a view of a hill from my house. It is a hill covered in long grass, with a small track and a lone tree. To the right of the hill is the place where the sea meets the sky in two distinct shades of blue, usually. But the hill changes as much as the sea and the sky, vivid green in winter and turning to swaying, long dry grass in the height of summer. When the wind gets it on just the right angle, the grass seems to move like silk. But the very best thing is in the summer when the sun is low in the sky in the late afternoon, the colour spills onto the grass turning it to a golden sheen. Alas, it’s not summer now, but the other really good thing about my hill is that very occasionally (like yesterday) horses turn up there quite unannounced, for grazing. I can watch them from my home, or if I choose, wander over and offer an apple or carrot and be in awe of their sheer size, beauty and grace.
Occasionally, a person wanders to the top and takes in the sea view. Or the neighbourhood kids take it over and play games involving toi toi flags, sticks, hiding in grass and chasing.
As much as I love the hill, it torments me. I have tried and failed many times to paint it. I have sketched it, scribbled, painted and each time I end up wondering why I even tried. I can never seem to get the colour, the movement, the emotion I want to potray, so I remain dissatisfied at my attempts. Anyway, here is a photo of my ‘hill’ (which is not mine at all), in all its summer glory, and a few of my scribbles/sketches also.
Perhaps it is one of those lessons that you learn…sometimes its best to put down the pen/paint/pencil, and just be in the moment. I enjoy my hill in its current winter-blown state complete with two horses, one tree and a view of where the sea and sky meet in a rainy blur of greys.